jellyfish

So many challenges, obstacles, frustrations. I try, often without success, to let them roll off my back. I try to enjoy the brief moments of solitude, the dog smiling, the cats purring and content. I try to enjoy the glimpse of a turtle swimming and diving beside the boat or the wondrous beauty of a moon jelly beside the dinghy, slowly and methodically pulsating through the warm waters. I have long had an affinity for jellies, delicate yet dangerous, translucent and yet mysterious. I would like to add jellies to the seascape tattoo on my back, though unlike jellies, and unlike my beloved seahorses, I do not simply move through life with the tides and currents. Perhaps my life would have been easier if I didn't always swim against the current. But I can't help it; it's in my nature.

The AIS had been giving me warning along the way. I knew the floppy-haired sailor guy would arrive any day now. My plan has long been to shrug it off and avoid any contact, but forewarned is forearmed and better to be able to brace myself for spotting him and then doing a 180 to walk the other way. I think he was cruel but we both let contact fall abruptly and shatter into so many pieces on the floor. There is always blame to go around.

So I had prepared myself, as best one can, for the eventuality of a wayward sighting of him about town. I had not braced myself for a message from him announcing his return and admitting it was crappy to have let contact fall off the way it did. Alas, I overwhelmed him it seems. Don't you feel sorry for that rare man to be smothered by my love? I shouldn't even feel the need to keep the details of our brief correspondence private, but I generally will. My initial response, slightly alcohol-infused, was somewhat terse but fair. In the light of day and being tender hearted, I apologized for being better at expressing my feelings in writing than out loud, which likely hadn't been fair to him. Though he broke my heart I don't see any gain in harping at him about it and it will only drain me to expend my energy hating him. I offered to talk, to ignore each other, or to start a clean slate, and just leave that up to him. I could certainly have never responded at all, but life is short and as hurt as I was I did love him once, even if that affection was flagrantly squandered. I will be skeptical, guard my heart closely for some time after pre-maturely opening myself up to him. But I am glad I took the high road of forgiveness and open doors. But one should never forget. I expect we will ignore each other, but it will then have been of his choosing, not my spite, that did it. 

Oh, to be a seahorse or a moon jelly. To leave worries and feelings behind. To be carried by the whims, caprice, or grace of the sea without tiring oneself swimming upstream or against the swells. Why must it be in my nature always to seek out the struggle?

p.s. Wander over to Sailing on -- single-handed to see a woman facing grief and self-sufficiency head-on. She is certainly one forging her own way, not content to be carried by the tide.

sweat and tears

Yes, everything is relative. 85 degrees aboard, cranky and sweaty, seemed intolerable. But upon returning to the boat, expecting the air conditioning to be happily humming along after cleaning the filters, only to find the breaker had tripped again and now the boat was a sweltering 90 degrees, made me long for that relatively cooler 85 degrees we suffered earlier in the day.

I bought a fan at Sears while I was out. The knob that holds the fan cage and blade in place would not come loose from the body of the unit so I was unable to assemble the fan. Back to the store it goes tomorrow. I stood dripping sweat, in tears, drinking a Stella to cool off and cool down.

I dug out the weighted mosquito net that drapes over the forward hatch. Tonight we will sleep with the moon shining down into the v-berth.

Plenty of people live without air conditioning, ashore and at anchor. Our ancestors survived without air conditioning until relatively recent times. We become so accustomed to these luxuries in life. But crime increases with temperatures for a reason... tempers rise quickly when one is uncomfortably hot and sticky.

The pets got some respite from the heat. I took the pup dog down to the pub for a bit and then on a good long walk, including plenty of swimming fetching a stick off the little beach at the tip of the peninsula. When we returned the cats lounged on the deck after sunset to cool off. I found them snuggled together above the companionway, my guardian lions at the door. Pup dog, too, was on guard, barking repeatedly when she felt strangers or the fox were getting too close to our yard and her pack.

I am on guard these days, as well. Any day now I expect the floppy-haired sailor guy to be at the pub when I drop by. A few nights ago I dreamt I ran into him; he may already have arrived. I know I deserve better. Someone positive, someone who won't cut me down, someone capable of sharing themselves. But the prospect of running into him still opens the wounds a bit. I remember us on his boat, facing each other, sitting Indian-style, the song he played to seduce me, that first kiss.

A couple of weeks ago I happened to be sitting beside a cute young guy with some dark floppy curls that beckon my fingers to grab them. We've only exchanged brief chit chat, though somehow he knows the pup dog's name. I'm not sure if we have lots of eye contact or it is simply him noticing me noticing him.  A few nights ago I was headed to the pub, hoping I might run into him. As I walked briskly across the bridge I noticed someone passing. I mustered a smile and nod as I said "hey." He said something more, perhaps a "how's it going." But like a flustered high-school girl I was a deer in the headlights, muttered some "hanging in there" sort of response, but kept walking all the while. Naturally, 30 seconds later I was kicking myself that I am such a foolish, silly girl, that I didn't pause and seize a conversation.

Don't we all want that feeling? Not of being foolish and missing opportunities. But of lighting up when someone walks in the room. Of butterflies and goofy smiles, uncontrollable when the object of our desire is at hand. That tension, curiosity, anticipation.

Summer is still a month away. Plenty of time for crushes. Perhaps I'll even open myself up again. I'm ready for some fun and dancing and drinks on the foredeck beneath the moonlight. I'm tired of sweat and tears.

vessel alert

When I saw the email I felt like I'd been winded and a lump formed in my throat. "Vessel in range" and another email immediately thereafter, "Departure." I had forgotten about the AIS vessel alert I had set up online and was caught off guard.

AIS, or Automatic Identification System, is a nifty tool that allows one to broadcast and receive vessel information. It is a somewhat pricey system found more often on large commercial vessels than pleasure craft, but if one can afford it, a very nice tool that provides vessel data including length, tonnage, last known port, current location, and heading, sometimes even photographs of the ship. MarineTraffic.com or the corresponding mobile app allows one to see nearby vessels, view port traffic, and search for vessels worldwide.

Back when I was very concerned to see that the floppy-haired sailor guy was making his southbound journey safely I had set up a vessel alert so I wouldn't worry unnecessarily that he'd gone down in a storm, particularly as cell phone and internet access would be spotty or nonexistent during parts of his trip and he wouldn't be able to let me know how he was. Although I now realize he never cared for or deserved me, I have been worried the past few weeks that he will return to Annapolis and ruin my local pubs for me. I dread running into him and if I had the financial wherewithal and sailing ability I would leave town as soon as I had an inkling he was returning. Unfortunately, my skills and my pocketbook keep me stranded here for the time being.

The vessel alert was an unsettling reminder of my heartbreak, but at least now I know that he left Charleston on Saturday morning. The likelihood is slim that he would turn south with hurricane season only a month away, so it is reasonable to assume he is headed this way. It took him perhaps three weeks to reach Charleston in the fall. I assume I have two or three weeks before having to avoid him around town. I was starting to think I might come back out of my shell. But when I think about the floppy-haired sailor guy I don't know how I could trust anyone with my heart again.